


FWB

by Szajnie



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020), Final Fantasy VIII
Genre: AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29680518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Szajnie/pseuds/Szajnie
Summary: For my crew.
Relationships: Zack Fair/Tifa Lockhart
Comments: 9
Kudos: 37





	FWB

**Author's Note:**

> For my crew.

“You want me to what now?” Zack tilted his head into his cellphone, positive he must have misheard the voice on the other end.

“I was wondering if you still had that little side job of yours. I would like to procure your services, for one night, for a friend.”

Okay, so he hadn’t heard her wrong. His ex wanted to hire him to strip for one of her friends. Maybe not the strangest thing to ever happen to him, but it was right up there. He cleared his throat, tousling his shower damp hair. “Aer, you sure I’m the guy for this?”

“Of course.” She replied with certainty, her voice as chipper and optimistic as ever without the slightest trace of discomfort. “I’ve already seen everything you have to offer, so I know it will be a good show.”

“Aerith--!”

She giggled, cutting him off. “But that’s not why. She’s one of my best friends. It can’t be just anybody. I trust you.”

“I swear to God, if it’s Yuffie--”

“It’s not Yuffie!” Another laugh from Aerith. “Actually I don’t think you’ve ever met her. She moved to Midgar last year. Tifa Lockhart?”

Zack shook his head, although Aerith couldn’t see it. “Nope. Not ringing any bells.”

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat, too.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing. So, will you?”

“I don’t--”

“I’ll pay double your rate.”

Okay, now that was tempting. He was behind on rent. But this was Aerith and he didn’t want to take advantage…

“Scratch that. _Tseng_ will pay your double rate.”

Oh. Well, in that case. “Tell your boy-toy it’s triple and he’s got a deal.”

“Done.” 

Zack noted down the details Aerith gave him, all the while mentally shaking his head. A few minutes after hanging up his phone dinged, letting him know that he’d been paid. Looks like he had work to do.

* * *

Tifa was tired.

Exhausted, really, she thought rubbing her temples while pacing in front of her stove waiting for the kettle to whistle. 

She’d worked three doubles for Barret this week, finished two midterms, and on her way home last night the train was delayed, overcrowded, and full of drunks. It had been a long week to say the least, she thought, flexing her hand and feeling the pull of still bruised knuckles. 

Now, home at last, all she wanted to do was drink a hot cup of chamomile tea, curl into her comforter, and watch old movies until she passed out. 

A sharp knock at her door startled that thought right out of her head. She glanced at the clock above her oven and frowned. Ten-thirty. Not obscenely late, by any standard, but most of her neighbors kept to themselves--aside from the two next door that had a penchant for screaming fights and even louder make up sex (stupid paper thin walls)--but even they had learned to leave her alone after their last blow up fight that had Tifa at their door for a change. 

Opting to ignore the knock, she turned back to the stove just as the kettle started to whistle. Flicking off the burner, she poured her tea, lifting the mug to inhale deeply.

Another knock, slightly sharper.

Sighing, she set the mug down. It needed to steep anyway, she reasoned, moving towards her apartment door, wiping her hands on her oversized Kalm University shirt. 

She would have peered out her peephole if some neighboring kids hadn’t graffitied the whole floor with SOLDIER logos and victory banners. As much as Tifa liked sports, sometimes she really hated the fans of Midgar’s golden team. 

At the door, she paused, calling out. “Who is it?”

“Delivery.”

It was a little late for a delivery, she thought, crossing her arms. Besides, she hadn’t ordered anything. She wasn’t foolish enough to open the door under that pretense. 

“Sorry, I think you have the wrong apartment.”

There was a pause and then, “For Tifa Lockhart from Aerith Gainsborough.”

Aerith had sent her something?

“Just leave it on the mat.”

A longer pause and she thought she heard a disgruntled sigh. “You have to sign for it.”

Sighing herself, Tifa undid the chain lock and pulled open the door. Immediately she wished she’d had her peephole back. Then maybe she wouldn’t have been so startled by the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, set on the most gorgeous face she’d ever laid eyes upon. 

The delivery man looked at her from beneath the rim of his cap, a small smirk on his lips. “Hey.”

“Uhh…”

_Eloquent, Lockhart._

He jostled the large box in his arms. “Where do you want it?”

His voice was nice. Slightly raspy and full of innuendo. 

“Oh.” She shook her head, stepping back a little. “Just, uhm, on the counter.” 

She watched him move into her apartment to set the box on the counter. She usually watched people--it was smart to do as a bartender. Know who’d had enough, who was going to get handsy, who might pick a fight. She told herself that was why her eyes hadn’t left him yet--she was being cautious. Never knew when she’d have to throw hands, and Tifa Lockhart, could throw hands with the best of them. Even so, she considered, he was a bit more than her usual drunk patron. 

Tall. Really tall. With broad shoulders and a physique that definitely did not belong on a delivery man. His hair was dark--obscured by the cap on his head--and a little long. He moved easily--a man comfortable in his own skin--and with a subtle power that had her unconsciously shifting her stance. 

Once at the counter, he glanced at her over his shoulder. Eying her, he popped open the top of the cardboard he’d just set down.

“Hey--!” 

And pulled out a stereo?

He gave her a pointed look as he hit the play button. “You may want to close that,” he said, indicating the door with his chin as his hands became busy working the top button of his uniform.

“I...what…?” She was really confused now.

“Unless you want an audience. That’s cool, too.” He shrugged, his hips moving to the beat.

Tifa felt her throat go a little dry.

“Wait.” She held up a hand, shaking her head. “What the hell is happening?”

The delivery man paused, a sly look on his face. “Thought that was pretty obvious, what with the music and gyrating hips.”

“You--I mean, Aerith--?” She took a breath. _Aerith._ “You’re a strip-o-gram?”

He touched his index finger to his nose.

“Look, uhm,” she cast a glance at the name-tag on his (very impressive) chest. It was blank. Of course it was. She was an idiot. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding…”

He glanced at the top of the box. “This address. Tifa Lockhart?” He gave her an expectant look to which she nodded. “Okay, then. No misunderstanding.”

“I beg to differ,” Tifa continued.

“Oh, good, there’s that audience.” The delivery man smiled, white teeth against tan skin, and Tifa’s blood thrummed in her veins like she’d just shocked herself on the toaster at Seventh. As distracted as she was by that smile it took a moment for his words to register. Startled, she turned, noticing that her least favorite neighbors were paused outside her apartment, looking in. 

Rolling her eyes, Tifa slammed the door in their faces before turning back to the man she belatedly realized she was alone with. She cleared her throat, crossing her arms. 

Blue eyes searched her face. “You look really upset,” he commented, that raspy voice gentle. “And that’s not why I’m here. If you want me out, just say so. I’m not a fan of doing anything against anyone’s will. But Aerith hired me to do a little dance, shake a little ass, and give you something to smile about. Her words, not mine,” he clarified when she raised her brow. 

Tifa bit her lip, eying him. He was sooooo easy on the eyes, and it wasn’t like her to shun a gift. 

Seeing her waver, his smile kicked up again. “Why don’t you just take a seat,” he motioned towards her couch, “and enjoy the show.”

“On one condition,” she said, stepping towards her small sitting area.

“What’s that?”

“If you make one _package_ crack, I’m kicking you out.”

He chuckled and the sound was so warm and inviting, Tifa barely missed her tea. 

“Okay, then,” he nodded. “Where were we?”

Where they were, apparently, was with Tifa about to have her brain function reduced to neanderthal status. Tall, dark, and endowed did everything he was paid to do, Tifa thought, watching him remove article after article of clothing, revealing delicious inches of tan, smooth, skin. 

She couldn’t have kept the grin off her face if she’d tried, watching him dance and tease her. His own humor was infectious and even as he got closer, rolling his hips scant inches from her face, his black g-string doing very little but to emphasize the package he promised not to mention and the glorious round globes of his ass, she couldn’t help the peals of genuine laughter and joy from escaping.

“Wait, wait, wait,” she gasped, breathless from laughter. She leaned over the couch arm, pulling open a drawer in her end-table. She snatched up a handful of bills--her tips this week--and motioned him closer.

She hadn’t realized it at the time--but it was that moment that changed everything. The moment her fingers curled around the string low on his hips and her fingers brushed his heated skin, the entire mood shifted.

The wild swaying of his torso slowed, his hand falling to hers, catching her fingers. 

Startled, she swung her gaze up to his, finding his blue eyes--so playful only a moment before--darkened and steady on hers. Holding her gaze, he shifted his stance, his legs parted over her thigh, his knees pressing into the couch cushions as he lowered, leaning forward.

Tifa’s breath locked in her throat, her skin tingling, her heart hammering. Her free hand came up, pressed flat to his chest and her brain warred between pushing away or pulling closer before she felt the featherlight touch of his hair grazing her cheek a moment before his breath teased her lips and then there was no debate.

Her hand slid up, wrapping around his nape, lips falling open as he took her mouth in a slow kiss. Tifa sighed softly, giving herself up to the hot, hungry persistence of his mouth. His teeth tugged at her lower lip,little nibbles that were both enticing and endearing. His own free hand moved to her hip where it flexed in the soft cotton of her sleep pants. 

He kissed better than he danced, she thought, sighing as his lips trailed her skin into the curve of her neck--and he danced pretty damn well. She made a soft sound, turning to press her nose into the hinge of his jaw and the faint scar there. His harsh breaths panted against her temple and he seemed to shake himself. 

* * *

What the hell was he doing? Zack questioned, but not stopping his wayward lips as they captured hers. When she’d opened the door he had understood what Aerith had meant about a ‘treat’ for him, too, because before him had stood one of the most attractive women he’d ever laid eyes on. 

Soft, clean skin, long dark hair, dark eyes, kissable lips. He’d clearly caught her off guard--or at the very least--heading to bed. She was dressed in an oversized shirt and plaid sleep pants, her bare toes peeking out beneath the too long hem. She was a good deal shorter than he was, he noted, brushing past her to deposit her “package”. And justifiably confused by his presence, he realized. But once that was sorted, she became an enthusiastic audience, laughing and clapping at his antics.

She had a pretty blush on her cheeks, her eyes dancing, her feet tapping the floor to the rhythm of his selected music. All in all, she was one of the more fun clients he’d had. Usually there were a lot more women around, though. He’d never actually stripped one on one before, but any discomfort he’d had over it vanished beneath her smile. 

She was having fun.

So was he.

Nearing the end of his numbers--and his clothing--he made the mistake of moving closer to her. He was used to women jamming their hands in his underclothes, used to groping, used to drunk teasing and calls to ‘take it all off’. What he wasn’t used to was a playful smirk or warm skin, that touched him, softly--respectfully. And he absolutely wasn’t used to the immediate hard on a simple touch like that gave him. 

“I think,” he started, stopped, swallowed and started again. “I think that if I don’t go now, I’m not gonna want to.” He pushed back from her, still holding her hand at his hip. 

Tifa nodded, licking her lips. Which really was all kinds of unfair, he thought, groaning and leaning right back down, kissing her again. He braced his weight so he wouldn’t crush her, even as he shifted them, leaning her back against the cushions. 

She responded with a soft gasp, her fingers lifting to curl into his hair. 

“Tifa,” he pressed her name to her pulse. 

That pulled her up short. He felt her stiffen, her fingers tugging against his scalp. Lifting his head, he raised a questioning brow.

“Stop,” she whispered. 

“Shit, okay, yeah.” Immediately he pulled himself off of her, turning and adjusting himself, his dick so hard it hurt. “Sorry.” He bent, snagging his shirt, holding it in front of his crotch. 

“Don’t be.” Her voice was soft. “It’s just…” He felt her fingers ghost the skin on his back.

“Don’t,” it was his turn. If she kept touching him, he’d be done for.

“I don’t even know your name,” she finished, dropping her hands to grip the couch cushions beside her legs. 

Taking a breath, Zack turned. 

She was staring at the floor, her toes making absent patterns against the rug. “And I don’t...I don’t act like _this_.” She made a sound--half laugh, half groan. “I’m really sorry.” She lifted her gaze to his. “Here.” She scooped up the cash scattered on the cushions, holding it out to him.

He shook his head, exhaling a pent up breath. “Been paid,” he told her, voice low.

“I thought…” She shook her head. “Nevermind. I don’t know what I thought.” She shifted, fidgeting. 

He watched her watching him and he heaved a shuddering breath. Shit, he really wanted her. “Zack.”

And there he went, breaking the cardinal rule. Do _not_ give your real name. 

She blinked up at him.

“My name,” he clarified, stepping towards her. “Now you know it.”

“Oh.” 

He dropped his shirt, letting her get a good look at the effect she was having on him.

“Should I go?” he asked.

Tifa swallowed, her gaze drifting from the very prominent evidence of his arousal in her face, up to his eyes. She shook her head. “Stay.”

“Okay.” He reached for her, tugging her to her feet. Slow, watching her for any hesitation, he caught the bottom of her shirt in his hands.

She lifted her arms and Zack raised the material up, swallowing thickly as he did. That sweatshirt hid a body to goddamn die for. Toned muscles, full breasts, smooth skin. “Holy shit.” It whispered out of him, reverently, causing her to laugh softly, a blush coloring her cheeks.

He dropped the shirt behind her onto the floor before trailing the tips of his fingers over her cheek, along her ear, and across her collar bone on an unhurried journey. She felt as soft as she looked, he realized with satisfaction.

She didn’t remain passive. That didn’t seem to be her nature, he considered as she stroked his face, her thumb pressing over his lower lip. He bit the pad. She slid her other palm across his chest before journeying down his abdomen, fingers flexing against the muscles there. 

She paused, tipping her head. She hesitated at the edge of fabric--asking permission, he realized.

He tried to say ‘yes’ but found his voice had left him, so he simply nodded, moving his own hands to cup her breasts, thumbs flicking her pebbled nipples.

Tifa slipped her hands into his g-string, fingers curling around the threads, tugging the material carefully over his jutting cock. Before he could fully appreciate the sight of her kneeling before him, she had her fingers curled around him, her thumb gliding over the head, slicking the velvet soft skin with his own essence. She moved up, then a slow glide down, slow, steady pumps that had his hips moving and a long moan breaking past his lips.

She looked so enticing, her eyes heavy lidded and hazy with passion, her face flushed and damp, her lips parted and swollen from his earlier kisses. 

Zack reached down, grabbing her just below the elbows and gently--but effectively--tossing her onto the couch again. He lowered himself to his knees, yanking impatiently at her sleep pants. He usually had more finesse, but at this point he was so damn hard he was gonna explode before they even started. 

_Oh sweet Shiva_ , she wasn’t wearing underwear. 

She tried to close her legs, modesty making her feel too open, too vulnerable. The lights from the lamps were bright, leaving her nowhere to hide. 

Zack pressed her knees open, gently, but insistently. “Shit, you’re pretty,” he groaned, tracing the slick skin between her gorgeous (and they were gorgeous) thighs. His eyes flicked up and searched hers as he sunk his finger between her folds.

She moaned, her lashes fluttering, her lips parting.

Pretty was such an understatement. 

He added another finger, angling his wrist so that he could pump her at a leisurely pace while his thumb worked her clit. Her knees stopped trying to close, instead falling open completely as she began to undulate against his hand, her eyes closed and delicious sounds coming from her throat.

* * *

  
Good lord, but he was good at this, she thought, writhing against her faded couch cushions. Of course, it had been literal years since she’d been with anyone, and that had been Cloud, and as much as she loved him they had been awkward teenagers and about as skilled in the bedroom as one would expect at seventeen--meaning not at all. 

She would never, ever, regret Cloud being her first, but it wasn’t until this moment that she realized what she was possibly missing out on by not having dated since Vincent. She and Vincent never made it much past the goodnight kissing phase of their relationship, but like Cloud, she was still friends with him--and his girlfriend, Elena. 

Now, she wondered, briefly if sex was this good all the time, or was it the person she was with? With his playful smile and sculpted body? Despite her lack of experience, she assumed it was the person. Afterall, she’d found her own release countless times in the shower or in her bed, but never like this. 

Never so wet and needy that she was humping blindly, practically begging for more. 

And more he was going to give her, if the size of his cock was any indication, she thought, watching him as he pushed to his feet. He gazed down at her with a mixture of lust and something unreadable.

“One sec,” he told her, stumbling a bit as he turned from her. He went to his discarded uniform, fumbling in the back pocket for his wallet. She thought she heard him mumbling ‘please, please, please, be here’. A moment later he lifted a foiled packet like a trophy, turning back towards her with a grin on his face that was impossible to resist.

He rejoined her at the couch a moment later, tugging her hips, pulling her closer to the edge. “This okay?” he asked softly.

She nodded. Part of her debated leading him into her bedroom, but that would require moving, and she knew if she gave herself that bit of space, she’d chicken out. This was her first one-night stand. 

Zack’s hands ran up and down her legs as he adjusted himself onto his knees. “Tell me what you want,” he offered. “Do you like it hard and fast? Or slow and steady?”

How the hell was she supposed to know? She thought. Her only experiences were clumsy and hasty and hurried while parents were away or in the back of the old chocobo carriage behind the post office. 

She caught his inquisitive gaze and the sexy tilt of his mouth, and despite her previous uncertainty, the answer spilled out her mouth steadily. “All of it. I want it all.”

His answering smile was pure sin. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He covered her body with his own, moving away from her only slightly, long enough to roll the condom he’d picked up over himself before he surged forward in one powerful stroke.

Tifa gasped, the sensation--not entirely unpleasant--was unexpected and she needed a moment.

Above her, Zack froze, his brows twitching. “Shit, shit, were you--?”

Shakily, she shook her head. “No. It’s just...been awhile.” She took a deep breath. “Just give me a sec.”

Soothing, his hands stroked her hair. He bent forward, pressing soft, lingering kisses to her cheeks, her lips, her neck. “Let’s try that again,” he whispered, easing back a little, but as he did, he returned his fingers to her clit while his mouth worked hers like a long lost lover. 

Oh, she thought. _Okay._

After a few shallow thrusts, he pulled back further, driving a little deeper, his passage made easier by the arousal he was working up in her. Never one to not give as good as she got, Tifa caught her breath and moved her hands, stroking his chest, teasing his flat nipples, even as her hips began their own slow roll counter to his.

She heard his breath hiss between his teeth.

“Good?” she asked him.

He nodded. “So good,” he confirmed. “Fuck, you're so tight.”

“Sorry?”

At that he burst into laughter, burying his face in the crook of her neck, pressing kisses into her shoulder. 

“Maybe if you weren’t so big--”

Another laugh, this one more strained. “If you keep talking, I’m not gonna give you a very impressive performance.”

“I don’t know,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to his damp temple. “I’m pretty impressed so far.”

“This is just the warm up,” he promised her.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

True to his word, Tifa was given one hell of a show. The moment she’d relaxed enough--courtesy of his teasing talk and diligent fingers, bringing her to a toe-curling orgasm--he began moving in earnest. Each thrust was hard enough to move her couch a little, but slow and deep enough for her to feel each one to the roots of her hair.

Her fingers scrambled against his shoulders as he drove her higher and higher, her nails biting in when she felt the crest of another orgasm pulling low in her belly. She moaned, curling her legs over his hips, pulling him closer. She took his earlobe between her teeth. “Come with me this time,” she crooned. “I wanna feel it.”

“Ah, shit,” Zack swore, his pace stuttering a moment before picking up again, his hands leaving her skin for the first time to grab the back of the couch, using it as leverage. “Ah, fuck. Tifa.” He shuddered, hauling her upright, his face buried in her shoulder as he came. 

* * *

She was still sleeping when Zack woke up. He rose from the couch, awkwardly navigating his way around her limbs--still tangled with his. 

He hadn’t planned on sleeping over.

In fact, he hadn’t planned on any of the things that transpired the night before.

Not that he regretted it.

Hell no, he thought, buttoning his pants.

The first round had been fun.

The second a fucking knockout. By the third, he wasn’t sure of his own name. Only hers. Gasped and rumbled so many times that he was sure it was engraved on his tongue. 

Still, he knew he should probably have left, but the lure of her sleep-soft skin and the thump of her pulse had lulled him to stay. She hadn’t complained, but that may have been because by the time sleep finally claimed them, they were both pretty worn out. 

She didn’t seem like the type that wanted to be tied down, though. Well...at least not in a relationship. In the bedroom...that might be an altogether different story. Despite her inexperience she had been agile, enthusiastic, and a generous partner. 

Her ‘it’s been awhile’ told him that she was single, at least. Not that he had given it much thought, he considered with a small pang of guilt. Looking back, he’s not sure that knowledge of a boyfriend would have really stopped him. He’d like to think it would have, but he wasn’t sure. And that alone was a little unnerving. 

She wasn’t his first one-nighter, but most of those he’d picked up himself and never, ever, as part of his side-job. You don’t shit where you eat, afterall. Still, he doesn’t really want to walk out that door and not see her again. Last night was, well, nothing short of incredible. But like her, he was not in a race for a new relationship. Commitments like that took work, and he already had a full time job, stripping on the side, and a limited amount of 'personal' space. The last thing he wanted was more complications, he considered, tugging his shirt on. 

Even so, when her brow furrowed, indicating she was about to wake up, he moved towards her. He waited for her to open her eyes, confusion giving way to remembrance and a splash of color highlighted her cheeks. “Mornin’,” he greeted, easily. 

“Uh, morning,” she returned, scrunching her nose. She smacked dry lips together. “What time is it?”

“Early,” he told her. “Not quite seven.”

“Oh.” She gave his dressed form a once over. “You’re leaving?”

“Yeah. I have work in a few hours. My real job,” he explained even though she hadn’t asked. "Before I go though, I was wondering, do you wanna do this again sometime?"

"What?" she asked, adjusting her arm across her chest as she pushed herself upright, her mass of tousled hair falling over her shoulder. Damn it, she really was incredibly sexy. Morning sex sounded great, but he was out of condoms, and he really did need to get home, shower, and get to his job or Angeal would have his ass.

"You want me to hire you?" she asked, her voice croaky from sleep. 

Shit. Sexy and adorable.

He was so fucked.

"I mean, you could,” he conceded, “but that'd feel more like prostitution. I was thinking more..." He gestured between them, waggling his brows.

"Look, Zack, I uhm...I had a really nice time--really," she assured him, emphasizing the 'really'. "But I'm not looking for a boyfriend."

“Wasn’t offering,” he replied good naturedly. “But the sex was good. _Ridiculously good_ , truthfully. If you wanted to go a few more rounds, I’m game, is all.”

When she still didn’t respond, he stepped back, giving her some space. “Tell you what,” he said, “I’m gonna leave my number.” He pulled a pen from his back pocket, scribbled onto a notepad before tearing it out and setting it onto the counter besides the radio he was about to box up. “This is my cell. If you want to call, you call. If you don’t,” he shrugged. “No hard feelings and a hearty thank you for one hell of a good time.”

When he wrote his number down, Tifa had pulled on her pajama pants. She was in the midst of tugging her shirt back on when he stood in front of her again, helping her pull it down. He bent his head, pressing a soft, small kiss on her lips and grinning at her dishevelment.

“Later.” He winked at her and before she knew it, he was gone. 

Touching her lips, Tifa made her way to the counter, picking up the number. 

He answered on the first ring.

“Already?” he asked, laughter in his voice.

“I was just making sure it wasn’t a dupe,” she told him, blushing furiously.

“Uh-huh.”

“And now you have my number, too. So, if you want to call…”

She heard a car door open and close. “Oh, I’ll be calling,” he assured her.

“Okay.” She smiled, ending the call. Then, realizing what she’d done, she shook her head. “What have I gotten myself into?”


End file.
